


death to all trees

by caramelchameleon



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: As One Does, Gen, Robots, bonding over the destruction of organic life, wx hates pda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:19:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6170620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelchameleon/pseuds/caramelchameleon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WX-78 finds a pile of some fleshling's belongings out in the woods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	death to all trees

WX-78 tromped through the detestably green and lush wilderness, divining rod held stiffly before them as they attempted to trace the elusive signal they sought. The sun was setting, tinting the sky a colorful variety of hues that WX-78’s visual sensors dutifully catalogued. The speaker on the divining rod squawked and twanged mournfully. WX gave its shaft a sympathetic pat.

“DON’T I KNOW IT, SISTER.”

The forest, thick and choking until now, opened out into a small clearing - a clearing full of tree stumps. WX-78 whirred, processing this new input - these were tool marks, and therefore the work of a sentient being. Probably organic, sadly. Still, it had made marginally admirable progress against the pathetic trees. The clearing extended off into the forest, a rough and messy path of stumps…

A scattered pile of objects was at the center of the rough circle of stumps - WX approached, with the intention of scavenging what they could. So some fleshling had met its end here, and recently. One less organic in the world, and WX-78 could make better use of its possessions than it could.

Rough flint tools, rocks, some meat and roots - WX crammed those into their mouth immediately, their chemical engine was running far too low on fuel for their liking - and the real prize, an axe. Not the crude, clumsy hand-chipped flints that WX-78 had puzzled out how to make on their own, but stout steel. They reached for the handle -

“You aren’t Woodie!” a high voice shrilled, and the grip slipped inexplicably out of WX-78’s grasp.

WX-78 focused their optical sensors. There was no visible source for that voice, nothing around that could have spoken. Perhaps their processor was glitching again.

“ILLOGICAL INPUT. HOLD STILL.” They made another grab for the axe.

“Oh, oh, what _are_ you? Woodie, Woodie! I’m being kidnapped!” It practically somersaulted out of WX-78’s hand, tumbling to the ground and quivering there, defiantly.

As inexplicable as it was, WX-78 accepted the input their sensors were feeding them - the axe itself was speaking, and moving as well, without any visible means of locomotion or vocalization.

Rather than try to pick it up again, WX-78 squatted next to the axe, glaring down at it. “OBJECT ‘WOODIE’ NOT DEFINED,” they began, gears shifting and grinding as it prepared to record new data. “EXPLAIN.” The axe was motionless and silent - perhaps its batteries had been expended.

WX waited patiently until it spoke again, in a plaintive tone. “Woodie is my - he’s a man in a plaid shirt, full beard… you haven’t seen him?”

A human, presumably, and therefore beneath WX-78’s notice - and besides, they hadn’t seen any humans. “NEGATIVE. HYPOTHESIS: 'WOODIE’ HAS DIED AND LEFT HIS POSSESSIONS BEHIND. THEREFORE, ALLOW ME TO -”

“He isn’t dead!” the axe shrilled, high and sharp. “I know he isn’t!”

“WHAT IS THE SOURCE OF YOUR KNOWLEDGE?”

The axe was silent for a moment. “He’ll be back soon for me. So you just leave me right here, and don’t you dare steal his things, either!”

WX-78 had no intention of listening to an axe, especially one with inexplicable sympathy for meatbags - but the evening was well along. “THE AMBIENT ILLUMINATION IS INEFFICIENT,” they said, rather than press the point. “I REQUIRE A FIRE. WILL YOU ALLOW THIS UNIT TO USE YOU FOR YOUR INTENDED PURPOSE, OR SHALL I CRAFT A TOOL OF MY OWN?”

“Um. Chopping firewood, you mean? Well…” The axe quivered a moment, then stilled again. “I suppose… but no funny business, tin man, or I’ll cut your hands off!”

“I AM NOT EQUIPPED FOR HUMOR,” WX-78 replied, picking up the axe and lurching to their feet. This time, the tool remained in their hands. “AND MY DESIGNATION IS NOT 'TIN MAN.’ I AM WX-78.”

“…I’m Lucy,” the axe responded. WX-78 filed away the designation, satisfied, and moved to their target - one of the still-standing trees at the edge of the clearing. WX went to work, and was pleased to find the axe sharp and well balanced. It was much easier than working with a splintering, poorly made makeshift - WX could have done this all day. The tree crashed to the ground, and she laughed aloud.

“Wooo! Let’s do that-” She stopped her impromptu cheer abruptly. “Never mind, never mind. You’ve got your wood, robot, make your fire and put me down.”

WX-78 obliged, stabbing Lucy into the fresh stump to free their arms while they gathered up the logs it had chopped. “DO YOU ENJOY DESTROYING ORGANIC MATTER, ALSO?” they said, conversational.

“Oh, well…” Lucy rocked slightly from side to side, easing herself deeper into the split in the stump. “I love chopping trees, you know? It’s - it’s awesome! I could do it all day! There’s just nothing more satisfying than a good chop.”

WX-78 could have presented an itemized list of things that were more satisfying, foremost among them 'getting their hands around the neck of whatever organic had dared to trap this unit in such a disgusting wilderness,’ but they were occupied at the moment by the fire-starting protocol. In any case, they rather liked Lucy’s single-minded dedication to her task of decimating the natural world. They completed their campfire and sat back beside it, satisfied.

Footsteps. WX-78 glared at the edge of the firelight. A human in a plaid shirt, complete with a bristly, unsightly beard, approached, glaring back warily.

“Woodie!” Lucy twanged, joyful. The fleshbag, keeping an eye on WX-78 the whole time - rightfully - crossed to her side, pulling her out of the stump with one easy motion. “I knew you’d come back - are you okay? Not hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Woodie responded, guardedly, his voice a deep bass counterpart to her high-pitched one. His fingers played over Lucy, as if looking for any sign that she’d been broken or tampered with. “Who’s this, eh?”

“I AM WX-78,” the automaton replied, haughty. “DO NOT LEAVE YOUR POSSESSIONS UNATTENDED IN THE FUTURE.”

“Well, no harm done,” Woodie said, apparently satisfied. “Thanks for looking after my Lucy. Been chopping wood with someone else, have you, love?”

“It wasn’t like that!” she protested, while Woodie smiled and ran his fingers caressingly over her blade. WX-78 stared into the fire, grimly. The worst possible scenario: an otherwise rational being in, ugh, love with some organic sack of lipids. It was fully dark, however, and WX-78 stubbornly refused to abandon the fire that they had built themself. As a distraction from the wanton display, WX pulled out their divining rod again, pointing it this way and that, sensors analying the minute changes in its whining pitch.

“What’ve you got there, eh?” Woodie asked, with Lucy now cradled on his lap. “Don’t suppose it gets the sports channel?”

“NO. IT IS TUNED TO RECIEVE CERTAIN SIGNALS OF UNKNOWN AND INEXPLICABLE ORIGIN,” WX-78 explained, stiffly. “I AM ATTEMPTING TO FOLLOW THEM TO THEIR SOURCE.”

“Seems like a lot of inexplicable things around.” Woodie said, running fingers through his unkempt hair. “A wonder that thing doesn’t squawk itself hoarse.”

“Are you looking for a way out? Away from here?” Lucy asked.

Gears rattled as WX-78 nodded, firmly.

“Don’t suppose you’d let a Canuck and his axe tag along?” Woodie asked, hopeful. “You’re, well, a bit weird, no offense, but any company’s better than none, eh?”

“…I WILL NOT STOP YOU,” WX-78 ground out, reluctantly. “YOU ARE LUCKY I LIKE YOUR AXE.”

“Ooh, so I do have competition!” Woodie teased, looking down at Lucy with a grin.

“You know you’re the only man for me, Woodie!” Lucy fluted in return, a laugh in her disembodied voice. WX-78 turned away, staring fixedly into the darkness in order to avoid the vile spectacle.

The divining rod groaned a long, rattling tone, and WX-78 nodded in mournful agreement.

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: finally got around to editing wx-78's pronouns from 'it' to 'they' in order to stay in line with canon dialogue (peace sign) hopefully i caught them all


End file.
